


still.

by SincerelyChaos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A.k.a. "ADHD and it being fucking enough", Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Awkward Sexual Situations, Difficult Decisions, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyChaos/pseuds/SincerelyChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to sex, Sherlock wants it all. </p>
<p>And that's the problem, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still.

**Author's Note:**

> (A ficlet summary to the tumblr discussion about how it feels to have sex when your brain is unable to shut itself off.)
> 
> Previously posted as part of the haphazard ficlet collection, but I was asked to post this one on its own, so here we go again...

****  
_He needs this._ **  
**

Sherlock needs this like he needs homicides and violins and an audience. He needs John’s body pressed up against his, needs to taste his mouth and needs the thrill of knowing that clothes will be thrown off and skin will come into contact with skin and the pressure will build up and hips will grind and–

And still.

Still it’s not enough. It should be, it really should - _he’s wanted this for hours, no, for months if one is to be accurate_ \- but he’s still… _indecisive_.

It’s just minutes since John got home and Sherlock’s already got him backed up against the kitchen cupboards, John’s sounds vibrating into Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock’s hands holding John’s head in place so he can press them even closer together just like that and–

And still. 

Still, Sherlock isn’t sure what to do next. There’s still so many things that are new and novel to them - _deprived things, carnal things_ \- and Sherlock’s been distracted in his chemical analysis all day by images of all the things he craves to do to John, but now that John’s here, where he wants him to be, all those things are swirling like the image in a kaleidoscope and he can’t abide to just one single one of those things.

There’s a surge through his body as John’s hands find their way in under Sherlock’s shirt and strokes bare skin, closer-closer to the waistband of his trousers, and if those hands could just move a few inches further down Sherlock’s brain might switch off and then he wouldn’t have to chose a direction, it would just come naturally and–

And still.

Still, when John’s fingers find their way there, Sherlock wants to snap at him to stop, because it’s too much, too soon and he doesn’t want to come like this - _no, he wanted more than a grope in the kitchen with their clothes mostly still on, he had plans for this, so many plans and it can’t end this soon and–_

And John might feel him tensing up, because his hand retreats after just a few teasing strokes, and John is looking at him, and Sherlock forces himself to look at John - _that shade of auburn really doesn’t do John’s skin any favor, and he will say something to John about the state of that sweater vest, and he’s got a really cutting remark on the tip of his tongue, the kind of remark that will make John look so intriguingly threatening and exhausted simultaneously, but then perhaps this isn’t the best time because John’s hands are now on his arse and then John’s speaking to him and Sherlock might have missed a few words already and–_

“–in mind?”

John looks carnal and breathy and Sherlock has so many things in mind indeed, and he wants to do them all, but he has no idea where to start. It’s not an especially impressive quality, Sherlock thinks, to be so wanting that you end up getting lost in all the options instead of getting lost in the heat of it all.

_John_. Uneven breaths. Skin against skin. Friction, pressure, build up. Release. That is what he needs. But he has no idea of how he needs it, and John really isn’t helping out by just looking at him and kneading his arse and waiting for an answer to something Sherlock can’t quite articulate at this point.

They should probably talk about this at some point, but they’ve been talking for months but only fucking for weeks, and Sherlock really prefers to do novel things, so the talking hasn’t been on the top of his priorities.

_Priorities_. Maybe that is what it’s all about, and Sherlock’s instant and impulsive and–

And still.

_Still the light in the kitchen is too harsh and the chemical compounds on the table reminds him that he’s due to check up on the discoloration rate in two hours and Sherlock wants to open John up with his fingers and fuck into him slow and hard and feel that tight-hot-pressure just like that before he comes and he will spill into John and there will be little traces of Sherlock inside John and some of it might diffuse into John’s bloodstream through osmosis and he… just don’t have the patience for that now. It’s too urgent, because they’re pressed together and one of John’s hands is unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt and finding its way to a nipple and suddenly the thought of slowly scissoring and lubing and stretching is impossible to fathom, because he needs–_ now.

John’s given up on getting an answer, and instead of answers Sherlock offers his mouth on John’s and John seems to be quite satisfied with that deal, because Sherlock’s nipple is getting a very fierce pinch - _and his breath hitch with the pain-pleasure-pain and suddenly it’s all hands and pressure and working John’s jeans open and gripping a warm cock and grinding them together at the same time and it’s marvellous, brilliant, decisive and–_

And still.

Still it only lasts for 23 seconds, and then Sherlock’s brain is no longer muted, and what on Earth was he trying to do - _stroking John while pressing himself against the too-eager handjob and frotting against his own hand just enough to limit the movements of said hand and this is not at all what he had in mind and–_

And still.

Still John makes noises into his mouth and the knives on the countertop next to John is aligned in a very disturbing order but John pushes into Sherlock’s hand still. And John is working Sherlock’s trousers open too, and Sherlock tries very hard to keep a steady rhythm with his hand - _it’s easier to accomplish now that John’s fumbling with Sherlock’s belt has created a small space between their hips - and then John’s hand is on Sherlock’s cock and–_

_And this is what he needs_ and it’s sparking in his synapses and his spinal cord is tingling with all the nerve signals and John pushes Sherlock’s hand away from his cock and then there’s John’s hand around them both and there’s pressure from John’s hand and from John’s cock and it’s a dual sensation that melts away cognition for just long enough for Sherlock to breathe and sense and get lost in what’s happening in his nervous system and in his cock and the tightening of his testicles and–

And it’s enough.

For a few precious seconds, it’s enough to fill Sherlock’s mind and blank out the noise.

And it’s finally enough.

_(For 36,4 seconds, it's nearly enough.)_


End file.
